


Case 149: The Adventure Of Homo Superiorensis (1897)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [190]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Breeding, Brome - Freeform, Caring, Cock Rings, Destiel - Freeform, Escape, F/M, Gay Sex, Golf, Hiding, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Jealousy, Johnlock - Freeform, London, M/M, Rutting, Science, Scotland, Trains, United States, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes, Westeros
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-15 12:55:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17529131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ Mr. Jaime Lannister, test subject for a new species of man called homo superiorensis, discovers something shocking about his position and flees to England - but his sister Kersey is in hot pursuit. Can Sherlock and John help him evade her and find happiness with a dubious mercenary in Moray? (Hint: yes).





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jaid_diah](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaid_diah/gifts).



> TW: Mention of faked suicide.

_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

It could be said that our recent sojourn into Kent might have counted as our coldest case ever, as part of it involved a killing from many years past (the body in that case was as our clerical friend had suspected later confirmed as fourteenth century) even if we were not investigating the poor fellow's death. We did undertake several cases that were called in on some time after they had started and one such was this when I met American 'nobility'. Of a sort that chilled me to the bone.

Mrs. Kersey Barras was about twenty years of age and, perhaps surprisingly, a widow (John, being John, suggested that her choice of attire meant I should insert the word 'black' in there somewhere; he is somehow getting even worse!). She was the owner of a small but strategically-situated islet off the American east coast, near the eastern end of Long Island and by which almost all transatlantic shipping had to pass. The status of Westeros Island had been left unclear by the treaty that had ended the American Revolution; the diplomats at the time had somehow forgotten to include the privately-owned island in what was formally ceded to the young United States so it was technically still a British possession, although any attempt to assert that claim would doubtless not have gone down well given the often fractious state of Anglo-American relations at that time. 

Thus far the government in Washington D.C. had adopted a conciliatory tone to the island's owners and I knew that our client worked at a scientific institution in the United States. I had to agree with John when he later described her as coldly beautiful; there was something calculating about her that I did not like, although she seemed pleasant enough. She smiled graciously at me yet I could not help but think 'all the better to eat you with'. I might well have to ask John to let me have more of that manly embracing thing later.

“It was most gracious of the president to allow me to approach you”, she said. “My twin brother is very dear to me and his disappearing like this.... it is so not like him.”

“Your elder brother Jaime”, said someone who hardly ever looked at the social pages except on the very rare and infrequent occasions that he may have just happened to be passing and the newspaper may have just happened to have been left open at that particular page every day. “May I ask why _he_ did not inherit the title to Westeros?”

She smiled at him too. I _really_ did not like that smile.

“There are two posts of import on the island; Lord – or Lady – and Guardian”, she explained. “The latter is supposed to be arranging defence although I hardly think the few hundred people in our sole village could do much if anyone ever chose to attack us. He never told me why but Jamie asked to be Guardian when we both came of age a few years back, which meant that he could not be Lord as well. That was the same time that my parents arranged my marriage to Mr. Robert Barras who owned the stretch of mainland opposite the island.”

I wondered at that, and rightly so as it turned out. John would later tell me that the late Mr. Barras had been over twice the woman's age at their marriage and that his death had been... suspicious. I was increasingly feeling that his earlier description of this woman as a black widow had been all too right.

“Where exactly did your twin disappear?” I asked.

“He has always been fascinated by our Scottish ancestors”, she said, “and after finishing college a few months back he resolved to visit that country.”

“You do not know exactly where?” I asked. She frowned.

“As the name suggests our island was settled by a lord from the western part of Ross-shire, near a place called Applecross”, she said. “He wrote several letters to me and he had seemed to be heading there, but....”

She was hiding something. I knew not what but I would find out.

“When did you realize that he had gone missing?” I pressed.

My repetition of that simple question seemed to flummox our visitor.

“He would have arrived in mid-August, sir”, she said at last. “I...”

She stopped. What _was_ all this about?

“The first sign of trouble was when I received a telegram that had been sent from Edinburgh”, she said. “Jaime has never been one for words, written or spoken. But he seemed... upset. And the next telegrams I got, from Stirling, Perth, Dundee and Aberdeen, were much the same. By the last he was sounding almost mentally unbalanced, and it was so not like him.”

“Do you have those telegrams?” I asked. She shook her head.

“I did not keep them”, she said. “I did however take to recording where the telegrams were coming from and plotting his travels on a map I drew. His next one came from Inverness which made sense when I found it on the map; he would have had to stop there to reach the railroad heading west. But the tone of that last letter was.... I would call it paranoid. He seemed convinced that he was being followed and, he said, 'determined to get away'. That frightened me and I took ship to come here at once.”

I thought for a few moments. Her not keeping her brother's missives seemed deeply suspicious.

“I must say, my lady”, I said eventually, “that your case quite intrigues me. Was the Aberdeen one your brother's last message?”

“No”, she said. “That came on September the seventh, nearly a month ago. I did wonder at one point if it was all some sort of bad joke – he has a strange sense of humour does Jamie – but that last telegram came from a place called Kyle of Lochalsh which is the nearest railroad station to Applecross although it is quite some distance away. It was the most likely way he would have gone so I see no reason to disbelieve what he said.”

“Kyle is at the end of the line from Dingwall that links Wester Ross as well as being the port for the Isle of Skye”, I said, thinking that if we did have to visit that island at least poor John's sensitive stomach would only have to face a short crossing. “I would like to try to find out what did happen to him if only to test my few abilities to the limit. If you leave us your card I promise that we will contact you when – or if - we have something.”

John and our guest both looked surprise at my acquiescence but the latter duly obliged and thanked me for my time before leaving. I looked across at my friend.

“Do you think you really can find out what happened to this gentleman?” he asked.

“I think that in this case I might”, I said. “And you are the one who gave me an idea as to what this might actually all be about.”

John frowned.

“You think that she lied?” he asked.

“She is a diplomat in all but name”, I said, “and sophistry is in her blood. I am sure that nothing that she said in this room was completely untrue but I am also sure that there is rather a lot that she may have 'neglected' to mention. Her sort takes to lying by omission the same way you take to pie.”

“Or you take to barley-sugar?” he smiled.

“Or we both take to sex in the afternoon”, I said. “Naked, my room, two minutes if you please.”

It really was good the way I could leave him speechless like that. Or have him falling over his feet when I glanced pointedly at my watch.

֍

One sexually wrecked English city doctor laid before me in all his naked glory, totally spent. I allowed myself an extra large smirk.

“What did you do to me?” he moaned. “I have never come so hard in my entire life!”

I showed him the cock-ring I had placed on him earlier. Unlike our usual ones which were designed to either totally stop or delay orgasm this one was much looser – except the ingenious inventors had fitted a slew of ball-bearings on the inside which, as the cock it was embracing expanded, massaged it very effectively. Thank the Lord that I had taken the shop-owner's advice and fitted the accompanying gag on first (the Victorians did indeed think of everything!), otherwise we would have had policemen rushing in from the Park half a mile away!

Seeing that he was over the worst I slipped the gag down.

“That is just cruel!” he gasped.

“Yes”, I said. “I wonder if you might wear it to the next fund-raising ball for your surgery?” 

He snorted at that.

“You forget, that is the costume one”, he said. “I have already booked my kilt for it.”

I waited. He would get it soon enough.

His eyes suddenly widened in horror. He just had!

֍


	2. Chapter 2

Although I had a fairly high opinion of our colonial cousins (certainly when compared to some nations that I could mention) I also knew their weaknesses. They had doubtless checked both me and John out thoroughly before risking someone like Mrs. Barras going to an outsider, which meant that they would also have made some inquiries into the likes of Miss Charlotta Bradbury. And they would doubtless have assumed that their nation being at least three thousand miles from these shores might prevent her from discovering much about them.

The phrase you are looking for, gentle reader, is 'wishful thinking'. You might also consider 'utterly, hopelessly and completely delusional'.

Miss Bradbury did a whole lot of research for me and being the intelligent lady she was I am sure that she put two and two together and reached a single-syllable answer that began with 'f' and rhymed with 'door'. When she came to tell us of her findings however I was not prepared for all her revelations. She looked quite shocked and anything that could startle that lady was clearly something major.

“You said this would be something or nothing”, she said reaching inevitably for the jam cream finger. “Believe me it was something all right! Ugh!”

“Just how 'ugh' are we talking?” I asked anxiously. She turned to John.

“Doctor”, she said, “do you remember that interview you did for that medical magazine last year?”

“Yes”, John said. “It was in two parts; they had one set of questions about my working with Sherlock and a second set on what I thought about recent medical advances.”

“I trust that you did not tell them _everything_ about us?” I teased.

“I am fairly sure that I did not mention the _pink_ silken panties!” he grinned.

“I can find all sorts of things out about _you_ , you know!” Miss Bradbury said crossly. “Now I shall have that image in my mind all evening!”

I smiled mischievously.

“Actually there is a young photographer across London who said he might be prepared to come over and....”

I had to stop. She was looking as if the next murder to be investigated might well be of one or both of us. I quickly rotated the cake-dish around so she could reach the other jam finger more easily. I valued my life!

“You two are terrible!” she sighed, taking it. “You spoke out strongly against this thing called eugenics, did you not doctor?”

“I did”, John said, clearly surprised. “You read that?”

“Along with the bit about Mr. Steal Your Bacon Every Breakfast”, she grinned.

“I never steal John's bacon”, I said firmly. “He always gives it to me.”

“Only because you give him your 'woe is me' look and he folds faster than a deck-chair in a tornado!” she said. “Anyway, back to business. The bacon stealer – I mean your genius friend here - suggested one set of possibilities to me and it seems that he was right as per usual. _And if he so much as smirks in the next sixty seconds I can arrange for all bacon supplies to Baker Street to be permanently cut off!”_

I did not smirk. She could all too likely do just that!

“What did you find out?” John asked, smiling like the bastard that he was at times like this.

“Unfortunately he was right about that vile woman”, she said. “There was one thing that she definitely did not mention about her brother and... even in my business there are still some things that can make me want to retch.”

She passed me over a slim folder and I opened it to read the contents. I have seen much in my time as a consulting detective but.... oh Lord it was worse than even I had thought. Miss Bradbury had severely understated it with that 'ugh'. That was disgusting and then some!

“So how do we deal with the American government?” I asked trying to put a certain image out of my mind. “They are nearly as persistent as my lounge-lizard of a brother.”

“Who has not been around as much lately”, Miss Bradbury said. “Something I would wager that the good doctor here has been celebrating with pie?”

John blushed fiercely. 

“Only once”, he muttered defensively. I coughed and held up three fingers, and he blushed even more.

“After Ranulph and Mycroft, Mother made it clear that the next family member to step out of line will be made aware of it when she shoots them in the backside”, I smiled. “Without warning.”

“Or makes them listen to a whole load of her stories?” suggested an impish medical personage who should have known better.

“I am not sure which would be worse”, Miss Bradbury said.

“I am!” I said firmly. “Gunshot can be extracted; words cannot be unheard or unseen. How do we approach this?”

“Well”, she said, “someone has already done quite a lot of the work by the looks of things. I suggest bringing Her Majesty in to finish things off!”

֍

It was ten days later and John, myself and Mrs. Barras were standing in the churchyard of a small white church in Kyle of Lochalsh. Before us was a simple cross, already a little weather-worn despite the date on it signifying its relative newness. Our client stared down at it and sighed.

“Here?” she said hopelessly. I nodded.

“This is where he is remembered”, I said. “I am afraid that it is not a happy tale. Let us get out of this autumnal chill and I can explain all to you.”

We left the cross and went inside the empty church. 

“I tracked your brother's movements as far as here”, I said as we all sat down. “I am sorry to tell you that you were quite right to fear the worst and that for whatever reason he did decide to take his own life on reaching this place. Her Majesty The Queen frequents the Scottish Highlands and has estates scattered across it, including a small one on the eastern side of Skye whose mountains we saw outside. The estate is of course guarded so when a young unknown gentleman swam across the channel and came up onto the beach belonging to it, he was challenged. When he unwrapped a gun that he had concealed in some cloths, the soldiers had no choice but to shoot at him. He stumbled back into the water and presumably tried to swim back but although a search was undertaken they were unable to find the body.”

I reached into my pocket and extracted a small bag from which I removed a pocket-watch. She turned even paler.

“I have friends in the government who are sometimes helpful in matters like this”, I said. “As I am sure you can understand, neither London nor Washington would welcome the scandal that this story would bring. When I mentioned to a government contact of mine that I was investigating something in Western Ross, he admitted the whole thing to me. They were unable to identify the gentleman from the clothes found on the beach near here but they knew that he was American because he had spoken to someone when leaving the railway station and that person, having been made anxious by his behaviour, had followed him and had seen him wade into the water. The government kept this pocket-watch because they hoped someone might one day come forward to claim who 'KIngslayer' was.”

She drew a deep breath.

“That is his”, she admitted. “He was an expert chess-player; that was how he got his name. Poor Jaime. I am sorry for wasting your time, Mr. Holmes.”

“Not at all”, I said. “Had I been more successful I would have inquired as to what brought your brother all those fateful troubles but given what has befallen him I would rather let him rest in peace, wherever he is.”

That is only right and proper”, she smiled. “Thank you again.”

֍


	3. Chapter 3

We said goodbye to Mrs. Barras who was staying with a relative in her ancestral lands not far away, then took the last train back to Dingwall where we were to spend a comfortable night. John did not scowl at the muscular owner of the hotel simpering at me and I did not smirk all the way up to our room.

I did not. I must have blinked at least once. And if my mentioning how handsome the hotel owner was just happened to drive my love to fuck me very thoroughly, well that was just one of those things.

֍

John was clearly surprised when, instead of heading back south the next day I took us on a Highland Railway train heading east to the town of Keith. I knew that I had promised him that the next time we were in Scotland there might be Kilts, but from the date I knew that the gentlemen that we needed to meet might well be unavailable for at least a week if we delayed so alas, Fun Times would have to wait. Although when I whispered some ideas to John as to what I had planned for a future trip North of the Border he looked set to come there and then!

Arriving at Keith we changed to a Great North of Scotland Railway branch-line train to Banff which turned out to be a pleasant if bitterly cold seaside town. John who had never taken well to cold shuddered as the icy winds blew straight in off the North Sea. From there it was a long and even colder carriage-ride along the coast road although fortunately the autumn weather was fine and I had thought to bring a thick rug which my love wrapped tightly around him.

“Moray is a beautiful place”, John said, “but it is so damn cold!”

“Yes”, I said, “although they pronounce it 'murry'. We cannot make the London sleeper at Edinburgh so shall spend the night in Aberdeen. A day there would be good.”

He looked at me in surprise when I turned off to stay with the coast rather than remain on the better road that went inland, but said nothing. We continued for some little distance before breasted a hill and approached a small isolated cottage that seemed totally cut off from civilization.

“Hopefully the last part of the solution to this mystery will be there”, I said gesturing to it. “If we are allowed in.”

He looked at me in adorable confusion. If he kept that up... no, I would save that for the sleeper. 

There was a tall blond fellow somewhere around thirty years of age working in the garden and he stood up as we approached, his wheaten hair blowing in the breeze. Despite the bitter cold he was wearing only thin clothing through which his muscles rippled and there was definitely a military bearing in there; he looked very much what I had expected from our conversations by couriered letter. He looked at John for a moment then smiled.

“Mr. Holmes, Doctor Watson”, he said. 

“Mr. Blackwater”, I said. “Is he available?”

“Half a day away at most”, the fellow said. “You timed it well. Come you in.”

John was visibly annoyed at being kept out of the loop over all this but he would know all soon enough. Even the disgusting bit unfortunately, but at least it was some time since he had eaten. 

Inside the cottage a broad-shouldered younger man in his mid-twenties was sat writing at the table. His handsome face lit up when he saw me.

“Mr. Holmes!”

He crossed the room to pull me into an embrace – John seemed to be finding the room a little dusty from all his sudden coughing – then we all four sat down around the fire. I turned to my love.

“John, meet Mr. Jaime Lannister.”

֍

“Do you remember our case concerning Doctor Adams?” I asked John. He nodded.

“The doctor who wanted to invent a love-potion”, he said.

“Yes”, I said. “As we saw at the time, such things tend to carry.... considerable risks.”

He blushed at the memory.

“Unfortunately some scientists will always want to go that step too far”, I said, not really smirking that much. “When I read one of the responses to your article about this eugenics idea I noted at once that the American scientist was very careful not to say that his government was _not actually doing_ any such thing, just that he _believed_ that it never would.”

“This case seemed to be proof of just such an experiment. Miss Bradbury's excellent network was able to find that the American government had taken up Doctor Adams' work to their own ends, specifically to create a chemical which would render any man who took it far more sexually potent. They however went a stage further. This was not at the level Doctor Adams had been working at where the chemical would be something that could be applied and would eventually wear off. This was taking a normal human being and changing him, completely and irrevocably.”

Mr. Lannister shook slightly and I noticed how pale he was. His friend may have underestimated his remaining time. We might have to make a swift exit.

“I am afraid that incredibly, we now come to the less pleasant part of the case”, I said hurrying on. “Mrs. Barras had as you know become a scientist. Her husband she considered ill-suited as a father for her children but there was someone that she deemed acceptable. She learned about the programme to create what they called _homo superiorensis_ and came up with an unspeakably foul idea. She gained access to that programme and used it to have children by her own brother.”

John flinched at that. Mr. Lannister shook even more then spoke quickly.

“My parents died the year that I started college”, he said. “I was short of dough; they had left the estate in a mess and I only got a small allowance. The money on offer for being what they called a guinea-pig was phenomenal but by the time I realized what they had done to me there was no backing out. I really was a changed man and my sister..... God but I retched when I found out what she had done!”

“How did you find out?” John asked.

“One of the scientists left his records around one day”, he said. “I think he may have done it deliberately; I knew he was uneasy with the work for some reason. They listed three children, one just born, with my sister as the mother and the father as..... Lord how could she have done something so foul? I was out of town by the end of the day and on a ship from New York for England that same evening.”

I noted that he had moved closer to his friend. That someone could treat a human being like this – some people were not of the human race.

“Mr. Lannister knew that his tormentors would be desperate to track him down in case he talked”, I said. “To destroy the evidence, as is the way with criminals of any ilk. So he headed for exactly where they would have expected him to go, planning to head off somewhere else once he had laid a false trail.”

“I chanced to meet Jaime when I went to Inverness to see my cousin Gwen”, Mr. Blackwater said somehow pulling his friend even closer. “We are one of the more insular parts of the northern kingdom and although we do not usually take to outsiders let alone those idiots down in Edinburgh, we do make exceptions. Gwen took a train to Kyle and reported both an American gentleman who had seemed somewhat disturbed speaking to her at the station, and seeing him again later taking off all his clothes and walking into the sea. Thanks to you Mr. Holmes this is all sorted now and only at the cost of Jaime's old pocket-watch.”

“I liked that watch”, Mr. Lannister said softly. “But I like you more, Bron.”

The older man blushed fiercely.

“But would an American gentleman not stick out in this part of the world?” John wondered.

“Mr. Lannister did indeed stick out”, I smiled. “Frequently!”

I got glares from both our hosts for that. John just looked confused.

“The chemical changes to Mr. Lannister's body caused him to become sexually supercharged around once a month, for about a whole week”, I said. “To the local women it was quite literally a godsend, especially with their men so often out at sea.”

“And they just let you...?” John asked.

I smiled. Any minute now he was going to get it.

“Mr. Lannister was accepted onto the course for two reasons”, I explained. “His noble background and his... endowments.”

We all stared at one spluttering English doctor before Mr. Lannister and Mr. Blackwater both chuckled.

“We did all communications by secure courier”, I promised John, “as I did not put it past our adversaries to intercept telegrams. Besides Mr. Lannister's 'heats' are occasionally irregular.”

“My next one is indeed due soon”, Mr. Lannister said. “I shall be in Macduff once it breaks, 'helping out' more of the locals.”

“Only after he has worked off his initial energy on me first”, Mr. Blackwater grinned. “The first twelve hours he is quite insatiable; he could impregnate a whole village if he was not careful!”

“It has all worked out for the best”, I said. “The Americans, and equally importantly his vile sister, believe that this man is indeed dead.”

“Indeed I am”, Mr. Lannister said, “and I cannot thank you and that Miss Bradbury enough for all your help over creating my new identity as Bron's cousin. Mr. Neil Colsterworth's birth-certificate looked so real that even I almost believed it!”

“She is a remarkable lady”, I agreed. “We had better leave you now sir, as we do not wish to be around when.... well, when. Keep 'up' the good work!”

John had no right to roll his eyes at me like that. He would pay for it tomorrow evening!

֍

My other regret for this trip was that I had been unable to arrange for John to spend time with his brother Samuel who was in Berwick-upon-Tweed. The latter was undertaking a major case that might well secure him a promotion just then and we had both agreed that while he would welcome a visit he did not really need the distraction just now.

We arrived at Aberdeen as I had expected too late for the London sleeper, and after a brief walk round the town found that it was decidedly uninspiring. John expressed a wish to see the historic town of St. Andrews further along the coast, which involved a slight detour off the main line south to Edinburgh but if it made him happy I could go anywhere. Curiously we crossed the second Tay Bridge, reminding us of the collapse of the first one that had brought such a terrible ending to an earlier case up here nearly two decades back (The Adventure Of the Musgrave Ritual). John liked St. Andrews but he found the old ruined cathedral a sad place so we walked around the town for a little.

“This is the home of golf”, he said. “There is a course not far from Belford and they let me play there the one time.”

“Did you enjoy it?” I asked.

“I did rather”, he said smiling at the memory. 

“Shall we have a round here?” I asked. “We have plenty of time.”

“At the Royal and Ancient?” he asked dubiously.

“I am sure they would let a famous author in for a round”, I smiled. “And besides, perhaps we could make it a little more... interesting?”

His breathing was suddenly a lot faster.

“How so?” he asked.

“Winner of each hole gets to give a hand-job to the loser”, I smiled.

“My kind of bet!” he grinned.

֍

Some hours later I and what was left of my friend walked off the golf course. Or rather I walked off. John hobbled, whining at every step.

“How far is it to the station for God's sake?”

“There is a cab outside to take us there”, I said with a smile. “Hurry up or we might miss our train.”

He glared at me.

“You never said you were a champion golfer!” he said accusingly.

“I am not”, I said. “But Father did let me have some lessons one time, so a little of it may have stuck.”

“A little?” he moaned. “You won every damn hole!”

“Not quite”, I smiled.

He looked at me in confusion.

“There is one more hole I am looking forward to 'putting' into all the way back to London!” I chuckled.

֍

I had to help him up into the carriage. And because I was a good friend I let him sleep all the way back to London.

Most of the way.

A lot of the way.

All right, Mr. Lannister may have slipped me a Stetson as we were leaving and I saw no good reason to waste a perfectly good hat. Ride 'em cowboy!

֍


End file.
